Friday Beers

Ainura suggested I try one of the local drinks here, called Tan. Apparently this is to Kyrgyz people what Coke is to Americans. I decided to give it a go. It seems to be sold only in liter and a half sized bottles, which was a little more than I felt I needed but I forked out the 80 cents none the less. It is a cloudy white drink, and is quite possibly the most revolting shit I have ever tasted. You could come close to the taste yourself if you were to take some plain yoghurt, leave it out in the sun for a few days (until properly sour), add some water, shake it up until frothy, and then pump it through a soda stream machine. Make sure you include the froth and the lumpy bits when serving.

Putting this experience behind me, I met up with the eco-trek workers for Friday after-work drinks (that’s what everyone does when they go to Kyrgyzstan right?). There were four of us in all: myself, Ainura, another Kyrgyz girl called Saltanat (who is the project vet, and also works at the local zoo) and a German guy called Stefan (who was in town, from Kazakhstan, for a conference on law enforcement for conservation). There was no common language between all four of us, so the night was spent translating between Russian, German and English.

They were a good bunch of people and we had a laugh. My hosts however, were very apologetic and upset by the ‘loud’ music interrupting us. This was coming from a man on electric keyboard and a woman on vocals who were playing what would barely rate as background lounge music in a western pub (‘Smooth Operator’ was possibly the most offensively loud song).

Saltanat spent a good portion of the night fielding phone calls from the owner of a sick dog. She was apparently explaining to the owner, the procedure for taking the dogs temperature. I lost most of it in the translation, but I worked out that the first step involved lifting the tail. I’m pretty sure the dog will be up and about again in no time, if only to avoid having its temperature taken again.

The passion these people have for their work is obvious, each in their own way. Saltantat, wearing an ‘adopt a snow leopard’ t-shirt explained that they hoped that the three leopards living in their rehabilitation center would breed next year. This year they had come close, but there was a strange love triangle happening between the one male and two females. Each was interested in the other that was not interested in it (which I assume means that there is a lesbian snow leopard there).

Apparently Bishkek is not the best place to be walking around at night if you are a foreigner. Saltanat refused to let me walk home alone in the dark and walked me back to my hotel. It was quite strange to have, as a body guard, a petite Kyrgyz girl, just over five feet tall.

Today I start the trek proper. I have met one other guy, a Kiwi, who will be coming on the trek with me. He turned up at my hotel last night, having come overland from Kazakhstan on his own (and I thought I was doing it tough!). He seems like a decent bloke, and apparently there are one or two others joining us as well.

I am yet to meet the project leader. I am just a little concerned as his name is ‘Thorsten Harder’. It seems like a name that would fit only two well in the credits of a porn movie. Add to this the fact that he apparently owns four very large Asian Shepherds (like a German Shepherd only bigger), and that he will be taking us out into the remote wilderness, possibly with a lesbian snow leopard as well. Ah well, sometimes you have to be willing to make sacrifices for a good cause.

I suspect this may be my last post for two weeks. I don’t believe there will be any internet access once we start heading into the Celestial Mountains.

Pigsy

Not wanting to come down with a case of runnybumitis before hiking up the Celestial Mountains, I have attempted to keep a fairly safe diet. I've generally avoided suspect shops (such as those that keep the heads on the ducks when hanging them in the window) but my concentration wavered the other day. At Beijing airport I took what looked like a perfectly innocent serving of carved ham slices and began gnoring away. Despite the somewhat rubbery consistency it wasn't until half way through the meal that I realised I was in fact eating slices of pig snout. Luckily the bowels weren't paying attention, and I kept it all down. The taste buds however, having been caught slacking off, worked double time to tell me just how awful what I'd been eating really was.

Two tubes of toothpaste and a plane flight later I arrived in Urumqi (pronounced wrrummchee, in case you couldn't tell from the 'proper' spelling). This town is rural China, the Chinese outback, according to the travel guides. Urumqi however, is no little country town. It's a huge cement city, with grey, looming buildings, and crowded six lane roads.

I headed for the Lonely Planet recommended backpacker accommodation, only to find the place was a massive hotel and business center. The 'dorm' room was in fact a single hotel room, with six beds crammed into it. The beds were so close that you could almost snuggle with the person in the bed next to you (although I think both myself and the Danish guy in the bed next to me decided against this fairly early on). Still the beds were comfy and clean, and at AU$4 a night, that is as much as anyone can ask for.

I spent the day wondering around town, but not quite aimlessly. I had a quest. I had left Australia without deodorant. Figuring it would be easy enough to pick some up on the way I was unconcerned - I would live natural, free like the animals of the forest. It occurred to me, after two days of backpacking in heavy heat, that animals of the forest, who generally liked to sniff each others' arses and used urine as a form of communication, were probably not the best guides when it came to hygiene. After a day of hard searching, I came to the conclusion that either deodorant is packaged in such a foreign and unfamiliar way as to be totally unrecognisable to the western eye, or that the Chinese do not use deodorant. I am not yet sure which is true.

After my day of fruitless searching, I was hungry. I decided I was ready to go the distance, that I was now man enough to tackle a restaurant. Up until now I had kept my comfort zone with fast food joints, and street cafes. I picked a likely target and headed in. I greeted the staff with a confident 'nie hao' (hello) and then realising that I had exhausted my lexicon, proceeded to make eating motions. I can only assume that somehow I indicated that I was part of a large group, as they sat me in the middle of the room, at a table set for ten.

Alone, a stranded man on a napkin covered island, I sat reading the Chinese only menu. I say reading, as this was the impression I hoped to convey to the staff. How and why I thought I could convince them that I could read Chinese, having already demonstrated my inability to speak two words of it, still eludes me now. I picked my meal totally on price and menu position. Let's see, menus always start with entrees, then salads maybe, mains should be about here. Right, average price is about there, we have a target. I pointed it out to the waiter, who stared at me strangely for a while, realised I was a simpleton, turned the menu back a few pages and pointed half way down. Realising my charade was over, my cover blown, I nodded vigorously, adding to the whole imbecile image. He half smiled, half shook his head and disappeared.

Excited now, like a kid on Christmas eve, I waited for my meal to arrive, wondering what it could be. With nothing else to distract me, I knocked back glass after glass of free tea. My cup was refilled barely before it hit the table. At last the waiter reappeared, carrying what, in any other situation, I would have referred to as a bloody big casserole dish. In this situation however, I was forced to call it a bloody big soup bowl, by virtue of it containing a bloody lot of soup. Good thing I'd drunk all that tea.

I did my best to make a dent, but like the magic pudding, the more I drank the more there seemed to be. I called a truce in the end, admitting defeat to this mighty soup bowl. I paid the bill - this being a classy restaurant, and the waiter having been quite tolerant and charitable, I thought a tip was in order. Apparently tipping is not the done thing however, as the little waiter, suddenly exhibiting ninja like skills, practically floored me in his frantic efforts to return the money I had left behind (all of about 50 cents).

I awoke at 5 am the next morning. The Dutch guy was sitting up in bed, smoking a cigarette. This scared me a little. There's nothing worse than waking up to the sight of a semi-dressed European lighting up a cigarette in bed next to you. The fear subsided when I realised the football was on TV. I had not been violated after all. I watched as Beckham, tripping over his own feet, floated a ball 20m over the goal posts (how very British). I was a little annoyed with this damn Dane - I had to be up in a hour to get a flight to Bishkek, but I soon realised that I had more 'pressing' matters to attend to. I had up until this point avoided the squatters, needless to say a full load of chicken soup and green tea did nothing to enhance my appreciation of the event.

Sometime later, tired, hungry and, it would be fair to say, not the most pleasant smelling lad I hopped the flight to Bishkek. A guy from the hotel was on the same flight. He was a Swedish missionary who had been living and working on community aid projects in Bishkek. An interesting chap, but more importantly very handy. The departure and arrival forms for the flight were both in Russian, and it's possible that without him I may now be locked up in a Chinese prison after unknowingly ticking the box that says 'are you a terrorist'. Given the smell, they'd be well within their rights too.

The flight was interesting as we flew over the Tian Shian (Celestial Moutains), where I will be hiking in a few days time. Most interesting was the huge amount of snow up there. I'm not sure how high we go, but if it's past half way we better take skis. The flight was also interesting as I witnessed, for the first time in my life, someone eating a banana the wrong way round! The crazy Russian bit off the 'bottom' of the banana and then ate it from the bottom to the top. There are some serious weirdos in this world!

And now I am in Bishkek. It is a nice little city, again with the wide, plain designs that must be taught in 'Communist Architecture 101'. It is a nice mix of green and grey - trees and parks line the wide streets. It's a very friendly, easy town that in many ways reminds me of the nicer parts of Bulgaria. The Russian influence is obvious and strong.

I was met at the airport by the promised 'young girl' that was arranged through the eco-trek. A pretty girl, somewhat shy, by the name of Ainura who works as the office manager. The only down side is that she doesn't speak English. She speaks German so we are making do, though I last seriously used my German some ten years ago. She has helped me find a decent hotel (although no hot water!) and shown me around town. The best news however is that I have located deodorant - to hell with this living natural thing.

Beijing

I’ve decided to extend my stay in Beijing. Instead of staying one night here and then two nights in Urumqi as I originally planned, I am now doing the reverse. I’d like to say that I was mesmerised by the culture and history of Beijing and was so moved that I was unable to leave. Unfortunately the truth is that my change of plan is due to me looking at my flight itinerary and discovering that my flight to Urumqi was booked for Thursday and not Wednesday as I had thought. A critical error, some would say, raising doubts about my ability to complete this expedition, but hey, no harm done.

The flight to Beijing was done in two legs. The first part, to Hong Kong, was spent in the traditional way: watching movies till the eyes bleed. I mixed this up with a bit of light reading on Zen Buddhism for some cultural background. With Zen on the brain, I couldn’t help finding hidden Zen wisdom buried in the Lord of the Rings. Gandalf’s elevation to the White Wizard and his experience of the ‘peeling back of the curtain of this life to discover an infinite, timeless and perfect universe’ was almost word perfect for the description of Buddha’s enlightenment (after starving himself for seven years). Maybe our two cultures are not so very different after all, although I admit I had more difficulty finding the hidden Zen in Starsky and Hutch.

The second leg was with Dragon Airways, Hong Kong’s airline. Squeezing into my seat, knees up to my chin, I was about to make a witty comment to my neighbour, about the seats being designed for five-foot midgets. I stopped myself when I realised that he was in fact sitting quite comfortably, as were the rest of the five-foot midgets on the plane. All thoughts of poor leg room vanished however at sight of the stewardess. A stunningly cute girl with a soft, eskimo-like face and eyes as big as a polar bear. I was beginning to like this culture.

Beijing is on the big side of big. From the air, I watched it sprawl across a flat, dark landscape, glowing yellow roads stretching out from the center, like fat veins from a pulsating heart. Despite it’s size, Beijing doesn’t have the oppressive mass of people that I was expecting. The city seems somehow filled with big, empty spaces. Though still dirty, it is cleaner than I expected. It’s free of the human refuse and rotting stench of dead animals that I remember from Bangkok, though the unavoidable smog and soot of a million cars lingers in the air.

Road rules, in the traditional Asian way, are complex and intricate, and on the whole ignored. On every corner stands a traffic cop (easily mistaken for a Special Forces operative, given the military outfit), as well as this there are traffic lights. Neither seems to have the role of actually guiding traffic. Cars hurtle through red lights, beeping and weaving through the swarm of pedestrians and cyclists who happily ignore the traffic cop’s red flag. The only time the traffic cop was of use was at a slight lull in the traffic (i.e. there was a three-meter gap between cars). He looked at me, waved his little flag and said something which I assume meant, “mate, if you leg it across now, you’ve got as good a chance as you’ll get of making the other side”. Needless to say, I legged it.

It’s hot here – a stifling heavy heat. The air is fat and lazy: more of an oozing haze than any resemblance to a breeze. Despite this I went with the full-length jeans, knowing the Asian preference for respectable clothing. This was a stab at cultural sensitivity as well as an attempt to not stand out as a target for touts and scam artists (in retrospect, this was a little futile as being a six foot one, white guy, blending in was never really an option).

It’s the little differences that stand out when you hit a new culture. After strolling across the amazingly vast Tianemen Square, I went in search of lunch. With a vocabulary limited to ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’, I decided I needed a place where ordering could involve pointing. I vetoed McDonalds and KFC (I’m in Beijing dammit) but while stopping in 7-11 for a drink I discovered something wonderful. In the place where, in our stores, the meat pies and sausage rolls are usually left to ‘mature’, stood a little man with a deep fryer. After a little pointing and a lot of gesturing, I walked away with a bounty of dim-sims and sushi rolls. I’m sure the locals were looking at me with the same disgust we would show anyone who gorged themselves on 7-11 sausage rolls (sober no less) but I was in soy sauce heaven.

Tomorrow (assuming I’ve read my itinerary correctly) I fly to Urumqi. This is a long way west, and very rural. I’ve heard this is a tough place to get around without knowing Russian (even though it is part of China). I’m banking on there being a 7-11 there though, and everything being just fine.

The Road Less Travelled

There is, in our society, an unwritten protocol used when two people meet for the first time. Generally names are exchanged with the opening greeting. "Hi, I’m Daniel. Nice to meet you." Often, a handshake will accompany this (a left over tradition from a time when an empty sword hand proved your good natured intent not to dismember your new acquaintance). A few other pleasantries will usually be exchanged, but eventually, inevitably, convention will require that one person or the other raise the all-important question of what the other ‘does’.

Taken literally, your average John or Mary could best answer this question with “eat, shit, sleep” as, on the whole, this is what we spend the majority of time doing (“shag” could be added to the list for a lucky few, though I suspect to fewer than would claim it). However, little is ever literal, and we both know that the question is intended to find out something more distinctive. What we really want to know is what do you do that makes you … well … you.

Recently for me, it’s at this point of the exchange that things start to veer off the road of the familiar. If I was kinder, I could answer this simply, tell the poor sod stuck talking to me that I’m an IT consultant: mixed, short-term contracts. A vague answer and suitably boring enough not to warrant further questioning, thus allowing the hapless guy to go his merry way. His social obligation of small talk met, the more important task of beer consumption can happily be resumed.

Having worked a total of eight weeks (all right, seven and a half) in the last twelve months, it seems misleading, at best, to make this claim of employment and I’m forced by moral stupidity to admit the truth: I’m a bum. Quickly I assure them that I am not on the dole (a crime beyond forgiveness, it would seem) but then the inevitable questions come, about finance and survival, about laziness and boredom.

The answers to these questions never satisfy: that I earn enough to live, and enough is as good as a feast; that laziness is not a disease caught by not working; that there’s no time for boredom when a whole world has been left at my doorstep just for me to play with; that the days are literally just packed. To explain these things to my new acquaintance invariably leaves the poor fellow confused and bewildered (I say ‘fellow’ because no female stays interested to this point - it is unappealing enough to be in IT, but how much worse to be in IT and not earning money!).

To avoid these questions I distract them with the subtle deception of truth. “I’m not working at the moment. I’m about to go travelling”. Conveniently they make a link between the two facts, even though none exists. Working would not stop me from travelling. If I were not travelling, this would in no way cause me to seek work.

“Oh, really! Where are you going?” my new friend will say, interested now, and on familiar ground (for travel is one of the few socially accepted replacements for employment - though only for a limited time, and only for a certain age and marital status).

“Kyrgyzstan”, I reply.

A pause. The human brain, it would seem, has trouble processing the unexpected with any great speed. “Where?” is the eventual response. The brain, suspecting some fault in the ear department, requests that the information be rechecked.

“Kyrgyzstan. It’s west of China. Just south of Russia”. I say this each time, though I know full well that these geographical references won’t help in the slightest. A map reference has no meaning. A country (or anything for that matter) can only exist if we have something to associate with it: a decent war, an insane and quirky dictator, or a threatening political or religious system. Kyrgyzstan means nothing to us because we have no experience of it. Until now, that is. From now on, for my new friend, it’s “the place where that weird computer guy was going, the one who didn’t work (oh and it’s west of China, just south of Russia)”.

And then finally, the big one: “Why?”

The short answer is simple, “I’ve volunteered to work on a Snow Leopard Conservation Project”. I say it slowly, pronouncing the capitals, giving the brain time to take this in. It’s had a hard day. The response, when it comes, is varied. Some are impressed, others intrigued, most are confused and a few are sceptical. My friends and family, those that know me best, have provided their own comments as well. The one that seems most common, and strangely appropriate, is “you idiot”.

It’s true. I have volunteered to assist on a research project studying snow leopards in their natural environment in order to gather information to be used for their conservation. But this is what I’m going there to do, not really an answer to why I’m going there to do it.

Sure, I think the environment is important. Hey, I even recycle. The dirty truth however, is that I am going for adventure, for fun, for something to do on a Friday night. If I can help save an endangered feline or two on the way, even better! I picked the conservation project to give me something to focus on: a distant and unknown destination, difficult to get to, and totally foreign. Like all pilgrims (well Monkey Magic and Tripitaka anyway – the ABC is my only source of pilgrim trivia), the destination is merely an excuse for the journey.

My journey starts on Tuesday (June 22) when I leave the comfortable familiarity of Sydney and fly to Beijing. I spend a few days jumping flights across the heart of China before finally landing in Bishkek, the capital of Kyrgyzstan. I don’t really know what will happen after that. I know little about the conservation work itself, having found the project by accident on the Internet (www.ecovolunteer.com).

According to the project description, I know I will be met at the airport, and that I will hike into the mountains, possibly with other project volunteers, possibly not. I know that I will spend two weeks, at high altitudes assisting with the research work. I know that I will be required to travel by horse and I know I will sleep in Yurt tents (one for the boys, and one for the girls – for some reason the project description emphasises this). What else will happen is as much a mystery to me as to you.

The time spent on the project will be only two weeks in all. From the world of the every day and the routine, where the days blur into an endless sameness of work and play, two weeks seems like no time at all. Having travelled before I know this will not be the case on this trek. Even science has had to admit that time is relative. It speeds up and slows down to match the pace at which we move. On the road, where new experience is followed by new experience, two weeks can stretch to a lifetime.

My journey doesn’t end when I finish with the conservation project. After coming down from the mountains, I then fly back to western China, to a place called Urumqi. Here, in this rural Chinese town, I’m meeting an old friend, Chris Glover (we’ve picked a pub to meet in from the Lonely Planet, hopefully it will still exist when we get there). Together, we are then planning to meander from one side of China to the other. We have no fixed plans, no set dates, and no real clue what we are doing. There is no more perfect way to travel.

I will chronicle our adventures, as best I can. I know from past experience that you are all sick and twisted individuals, and take great pleasure in my tales of ineptitude and near fatal misadventure (that scooter was faulty, and why would anyone in their right mind have a scooter hire shop next to a six foot glass window anyway?). I suspect Internet access will be limited at best (unless there is a Kyrgyzstanie government initiative that no snow leopard will be without net access by 2006), but I will post when I am able.